


Red Tape

by irisbleufic



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Illustrated, Illustrations, Injury, M/M, Minor Injuries, Not Canon Compliant, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Science Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5384321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You're not going to die on me. Not even if the space-time continuum has it in for you.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Stand-alone; briefly covers similar ground to the final section of  ** _[Find the Right Words](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5191220)_** , but isn't related. There's been an intermittent group chat on Skype for several weeks now that has spawned discussion topics that some of us have worked with in art and writing. This piece lies somewhere at the nexus-point of hurt/comfort, the unnerving experience of an ER waiting room (or the hospital experience generally, which is still too much in my thoughts), and the fact that Doc could've sustained minor, yet exam-worthy injuries as a result of being shot while wearing a bulletproof vest (my cop neighbor when I was a kid described how a single-bullet impact knocked the wind out of him for about thirty seconds; web-searches turn up the fact that being hit while wearing Kevlar is like being hit with a hammer, so consider being hit with a hammer  _repeatedly_ ). Conversation two nights ago led to a scenario that made several of us to go to bed thinking we might do something with it. Here's to the Skype crew.

In under thirty seconds, _my gunned-down best friend is alive_ was too much to process.

Marty hadn't given much thought to how dazed Doc had seemed, hadn't even had time to do much more than run at the mouth, disbelieving, while Doc had responded almost entirely by way of unbuttoning his radiation suit to reveal the bulletproof vest. There was something in Doc's tone when he finally spoke— _Well, I figured, what the hell!_ —that caused Marty to snap. There was no reason he could think of, not a _single_ one, why throwing his arms around Doc and hugging the newly-restored breath out of him might be a terrible idea.

And Doc seemed to agree with that sentiment, wordlessly crushing Marty to his chest with equal intensity until something went very, _very_ wrong—that is, until he tensed and caught his breath on a groan that did _not_ point to any of the more inexplicable fantasies that Marty's subconscious had been lending more and more foolish, hopeful credence.

Marty let go of him, shaking with a fresh surge of panic. "Jesus, Doc. What's wrong?"

Doc performed a perfunctory self-examination, patting himself down, slightly grey-faced. "Nothing, nothing," he said, breathy but otherwise back to normal. "You took me by surprise."

Embarrassed, but still concerned, Marty ran his fingers through his hair, casting wildly about the parking lot. The Libyans' collision with the film booth, by now a flame-engulfed disaster, caused him to swallow and look away. If somebody happened to drive by, they'd report it, and police would be all over the place within minutes. Hell, _they_ should report it, but how were they supposed to do that without implicating themselves?

Marty staggered to his feet, offering Doc his hand. "I hate to break it to you, but we need to get lost. I'd like to think we're upstanding citizens ninety percent of the time, but I can't see any sense in upholding that reputation with a phone-call when we've got the chance to split and have it look like this was some kind of failed attack on Mall Security. I don't want us to end up in jail."

Doc accepted Marty's hand, rising with difficulty in spite of the assistance. "Little though I'd like to see us end up there, either," he wheezed, performing another pat-down, his expression growing puzzled before he locked it down to neutral tighter than Marty had _ever_ seen him do before, "we really ought to alert the authorities. Perhaps an anonymous tip-off would... _aha_. There's a phone-booth at the opposite end of the parking lot, isn't there? Let's get the equipment packed up, make the call, and then go fetch the DeLorean from wherever you've left it."

"Courthouse square, remember?" Marty asked, dashing to collect any pieces of the experiment he could find in his immediate vicinity. "I, uh, _may_ have crashed into something myself."

"Of course," Doc sighed, assisting with the pack-up, albeit at a much slower pace than Marty would've expected given both his boundless energy and the urgency of the situation. "How foolish a lapse in recollection; your 1955 point of departure in no way corresponds to our current location!"

"It's okay, Doc," Marty said, hustling him up the tire-ramps with the closed plutonium case in hand. "That's everything! We've gotta fold these ramps up and leave, _stat_. Forget about using the pay-phone here. Just drive, and then I'll use the one right off the square while you wait in the van. After that, I'll hop into the DeLorean and follow you back to your place. How's that for a plan?" 

"As good as anything I could've come up with," Doc agreed, calming Einstein with a few ear-scritches and a kiss atop the head before making his way, releasing a hissed intake of breath that Marty found impossible to ignore, up to the driver's seat. "Hopefully we'll have no further involvement with these events aside from reading them in the _Telegraph_ come morning."

Marty gave Einstein a rub-down on his way to the front, shimmying past Doc, collapsing into the passenger seat with his pulse doing at _least_ eighty-eight (broken heart, broken speed-limit: he could no longer tell the difference). "Right," he said, buckling up. "Get us the hell outta here."

They were more significantly delayed downtown than either one of them would have liked, mostly because, while Marty was making the call to Hill Valley Police, Red had come up to Doc at his open driver's side window and started grilling him on what the hell was going on tonight with all of these drunk drivers disturbing the peace. Marty hovered uneasily next to the DeLorean, ready to hop in as soon as Doc managed to get Red off their case, but that didn't happen for another several minutes (and at the expense of five dollars out of Doc's pocket). 

Once Red had pottered back to his bench, muttering all the way, Marty hopped into the freshly-fueled DeLorean and flashed the headlights at Doc. He couldn't help but think as they drove back to JFK that Doc had moved too stiffly for comfort when he'd brought the gas can down from the back of the van. He'd asked again what was wrong, but Doc hadn't said a word.

 _Wait a minute_ , Marty thought, hitting the turn signal as soon as he saw Doc do the same just ahead of him, Burger King sign finally in view. _He got hit_ how _many times? And what's the force of AK-47 bullet impact through Kevlar, anyway? I don't know the goddamn math._

Dumping both the van and Einstein off at Doc's place was more of a production than it ought to have been. Marty spent a nervous fifteen minutes standing around in the garage with his arms folded across his chest while Doc made a big to-do of not only washing out Einstein's complete mess of a bowl, but opening a fresh can of food for him by hand. His movements were looking less and less fluid by the second, and they'd been anything _but_ back in the parking lot.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Doc?" Marty asked, uncomfortably rubbing his denim-covered elbows. He couldn't for the life of him think of a tactful way of saying _I need you to take your clothes off so I can take a look at whether or not one of those bullets did more damage than you think_. "You don't need to take me home right away. Why don't you get that vest off?"

"An excellent suggestion, Marty," Doc said, wincing as he got to his feet from where he'd been crouched next to Einstein in an effort to make sure the dog would stop his anxious whimpering and start to eat. He undid the radiation suit the rest of the way, struggling out of it with a grimace. When Marty rushed forward to offer assistance, Doc attempted to wave him off; nonetheless, Marty managed to assert himself to the point Doc gave up and watched him unfasten the vest with grateful, unvoiced relief. He let Marty help him out of it. "Thank you," he sighed, winded.

"Listen to me," Marty said, stepping away from him only just long enough to toss the vest aside on the twin bed. "I don't like the way you look right now, okay? You seem pretty pale. Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing a good night's sleep won't cure," Doc insisted, setting both hands on Marty's shoulders. If he was aiming to hide his condition from Marty, that gesture in and of itself was a _terrible_ move, because his brows knit in painfully obvious discomfort. "Come on. Let's get you home."

Marty felt the last reserves of his patience fray, unwind, and outright _snap_. "Doc, _no_ ," he insisted, setting his hands on top of Doc's, carefully working his fingers beneath Doc's as he lifted Doc's hands off his shoulders. He held them gingerly in front of him, and for a distant, surreal moment it occurred to him that anyone intruding might take the scene for some kind of intimate proposition. "I'm really sorry to point this out, but you're _lying_ to me."

Doc swallowed, withdrawing his hands from Marty's so swiftly that he caused himself another stab of—of _whatever_ he was feeling, God only knew. He swayed where he stood, finally returning Marty's hard gaze with an air of defeat. "I seem to have..." He performed the pat-down exam a third time, not meeting with any resistance given that now all he was wearing were his button-down and undershirt. He squeezed his eyes shut as he applied unflinching pressure to the left side of his ribcage, nodding in grim confirmation. "I seem to have sustained some manner of injury. I don't mean to alarm you, but it most likely happened when I was shot."

Marty's chest flooded with the panic he'd been able to hold off solely because they'd had a crisis requiring their immediate attention. "No fucking _kidding_ , Doc!" he exclaimed, rushing to support Doc with an arm around Doc's waist before Doc could even reach for him. "They hit you at pretty close range, d'you realize that? At a bare minimum, I bet you're all bruised up."

"It looked survivable on paper," said Doc, distantly, an afterthought. " _Bearable_ , certainly."

"Oh _jeez_. You did the math, of _course_ you did the math," Marty muttered, tightening his right arm around Doc while using his left to prod at Doc's chest in the spot he'd seen draw the most dramatic reaction. When Doc flinched, Marty lightened his touch, felt his stomach clench and the color drain from his own face. "I'm willing to bet those five bucks you gave Red that you've broken a couple of ribs. And I know there's not much you can usually do for that, because I cracked one the year before I met you—" _Not true anymore_ , Marty thought numbly, _not for Doc_ "—when I took a spill on my skateboard. Still, you need to get checked out. If there are any jagged edges or anything like that, you could puncture a lung. Wait, you're having trouble breathing, aren't you?" Marty's mind reeled blindly as he pushed Doc toward the door. "You're gonna let me drive you to the hospital, Doc. That's completely non-negotiable."

"I can't just keep you out for the rest of the night!" Doc protested, but he had better sense than to struggle against Marty dragging him outside. "Scratch that! It's going on three in the morning!"

"I don't care what time it is," Marty said, hardening his voice as much as he could manage, but it was a losing battle given how exhausted and fucking _terrified_ he felt. "Get in the damn _car_ , Doc," he sighed, kicking up the passenger-side gull wing door. "We're going."

"Better safe than sorry, I guess," Doc muttered once Marty had taken his place in the driver's seat and fired up the engine. "Bone marrow can cause considerable havoc if released—" He cut himself off, casting a furtive, apologetic sidelong glance at Marty. "Thanks," he swallowed. "Please drive."

 _If we get pulled over_ , Marty thought, frantic, running the first red light he hit squealing out onto JFK, _I can at least get us off the hook by citing an emergency_. Doc was tight-lipped and silent for the entirety of the ten-minute drive up to Hill Valley General, not even bothering to comment when Marty ran several stop-signs in succession. _You're not gonna die on me_ , Marty thought, gritting his teeth. _Not even if the space-time continuum has it in for you._

Still, _one_ of the powers-that-be must've been looking out for them, because Marty nabbed a parking spot right next to the handicapped ones near the ER entrance. Marty wasn't keen on finding out what this environment looked like on a Friday-night-slash-Saturday-morning, because he'd heard a number of gruesome stories from one of Linda's friends who was a paramedic. It took a lot of ordering Doc around to keep him from opening the passenger-side door and getting out of the car on his own, but Marty somehow got him inside and up to the check-in desk with minimal fuss.

"Name?" said the tired-looking young Asian man at the desk, his eyes scarcely flicking up from the Apple IIc screen, his fingers idly hitting keys at intervals. "You'll need to fill these out," he added.

 _He's probably playing Blackjack or something_ , Marty thought in annoyance, accepting the clipboard on Doc's behalf. "Emmett Lathrop Brown," he said before Doc could even open his mouth. "That's this guy right here. His Social Security Number is—"

"There's a space for it on the form," said the young man, making eye contact with Marty. "Just have him fill it out, and I'll enter everything from there. Bring the clipboard back when he's done. Are you next-of-kin? What happened? Just so I can determine if we need to get a drip started or something."

"Um," said Marty, his mind going blank as Doc carefully took the clipboard away from him and went over to sit in one of the badly-scuffed plastic chairs. "I work for him. I'm a friend of the family, ah— _close_ friend of the family. _Well_. His family's all passed, so—"

"Why don't you just tell me what happened?" asked the young man, regarding Marty with confusion, glancing over Marty's shoulder at Doc. "It looks like he's capable of sitting upright, and he's using his own pen on the form. Does the injury prevent him from speaking, or is he mute?"

"Mute? Doc? Uh, no," Marty sighed, rubbing his eyes. "The opposite, in fact. It's just that he, um..." _Think, McFly, and think fast_ , he pleaded with himself. "One of the overhead lights burned out while we were working down at the lab. He's, you know—you've probably seen his van around town, Dr. E. Brown Enterprises? 24-Hour Scientific Services?" _If you fuck this up, they're gonna get the police in here, and who knows what could happen_ , Marty thought, his eyes stinging with sheer frustration. "Look, he fell off a ladder trying to change the bulb! I'm worried, okay? He's having difficulty breathing, and he's in a lot of pain, so I'd really—"

"Hey, it's all right," said the young man, rising, setting a hand on Marty's wrist against the desk. It wasn't until he handed Marty a tissue with his free hand that Marty realized he must've actually shed a tear or two, which, as humiliating as that was, had probably helped his case. "We'll take care of him. Go make sure he doesn't need help with the forms, and bring 'em back up when he's done."

"His mind's all there," said Marty, defensively, pulling his hand away, accepting the tissue. "I know he has a weird reputation around town and everything, but we don't need any reminders, got it?"

The young man gave Marty an odd look. "I have no idea who he is, if that makes you feel better?"

"Oh," Marty said, blowing his nose, quickly shuffling over to sit beside Doc. "Yeah, um. Thanks."

Doc, nearly finished with the paperwork, hesitated over the sign-and-date-here section. He regarded Marty with concern, as if he hadn't registered just how progressively worked-up Marty had gotten. "Marty, are _you_ all right? We're here, and I haven't lost consciousness, so the logical conclusion is that neither of the more serious options we've considered is the case."

"That's not gonna mean shit to me," Marty said, collapsing into the empty seat to Doc's right, "until somebody's had a look at you." He wadded up the tissue and shoved it in his pocket, watching Doc somehow manage to sign the form while maintaining eye contact with him. "You hear all kinds of stories. People are fine right up until the moment they aren't."

Doc set his hand carefully on Marty's shoulder, using Marty for support as he got to his feet. He tucked the pen in his pocket and held the clipboard to his chest, hunching to look Marty in the eye in spite of the fact that it caused him discomfort. "Thanks to your quick action, whatever the situation may be," said Doc, softly, lifting his hand from Marty's shoulder to brush a stray tear from Marty's cheek, "I have no doubt that it _will_ be all right."

"You'd better take that to—" Marty scoured his short-term memory for the fleeting glance he'd caught of the desk guy's ID badge "—Gary up there before he comes asking for it. Why'd you have to get up, though? That was totally unnecessary. I already said I'd do it for you."

Doc lingered a split-second more, his expression unreadable. "Because you've already done so much," he said, finally removing his hand from where it still rested against Marty's cheek.

Marty sat in stunned silence while Doc answered further questions from Gary while he entered a bunch of stuff in the system. Marty glanced around the waiting area, his panic having receded just enough to permit him some awareness of his surroundings. The place wasn't as packed as he would've expected, but it _was_ about ten till three and the clinicians were calling people in to be seen at a slow, yet reliable pace. Two seats down from Marty, a disheveled woman with a sleeping, fever-flushed child in her arms looked about ready to drift off. He didn't see any of Linda's friend's horror stories, not at a casual glance. He was glad; his nerves were shot.

"That's that," Doc said, returning to his seat beside Marty. "And now, I suppose, we wait."

"Here," Marty said, grateful he was seated to Doc's uninjured side, leaning into Doc until, much to his (pleased, even _breathless_ ) surprise, Doc put an arm around him. "Might as well get some sleep if we can?" he ventured, holding his breath, tucking his head beneath Doc's chin.

Doc tightened his arm around Marty, refusing to let go in spite of the hitch it caused in his breath. " _You_ should try to sleep, at least," he agreed. "I'd better stay alert for when they call me."

That didn't stop either of them from dropping off until, roughly thirty minutes later, somebody's loudly growling stomach caused Marty to wake with a start. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, and a few more beyond that to realize the stomach in question was _Doc's_.

"Don't you feed him enough?" Gary asked in undisguised amusement from behind the desk.

"Hey," Marty murmured, shaking Doc lightly. "Hold tight. I'm gonna find some vending machines or something." He made sure Doc, however out-of-it, was looking him in the eye. "How's that?"

"Necessary," Doc said, blinking hazily, and _why_ was that so endearing? "Thank you."

As far as Marty could tell, not much about the hospital's layout had changed since about six months ago when he'd needed to help his dad run Grandma Sylvia down here one night because she'd been having chest pains. It had been a false alarm, but he'd still come out of it troubled and had hid at Doc's place with his guitar for the remainder of the weekend. Instead of asking for Marty's assistance, Doc had put down whatever he'd been tinkering with and had done everything in his power to distract Marty: watch films, play cards, listen to Marty play, and offer reassurance.

Marty took another turn down the maze-like network of hallways, by now hopelessly lost. Some part of his mind must have retained useful information, however, because the turn he took after _that_ left him at a dimly-lit dead end with a stairwell door and three vending machines. He and Doc had a sweet tooth in common, although Marty tried his best to go sugar-free whenever possible since the dentist had mentioned he was cavity-prone like his mom. Salt-and-vinegar potato chips looked like the least of all evils, so he got a bag of those with the pocket-change he'd accrued in 1955 (technically Doc's, as he'd used his last handful on coffee at the diner, and, God, unless those coins had been dated '55 or earlier, wouldn't _those_ have caused a stir).

By the time he blundered his way back to the seats in front of Gary's desk, he was ready to go off on a worried rant as to whether those coins he'd spent would've been taken for inexplicable mis-strikes or maybe even counterfeit jokes. He had to blink a few times to register the fact that Doc was no longer _there_. There it was, the panic again: sting in his eyes, tightness in his throat. His first impulse was to shake the young mother awake and ask if she'd seen what had become of Doc, but the child was no longer in her arms; she was tight-lipped with worry. Marty thought better of it and turned to the desk, only to find it wasn't staffed by Gary. A middle-aged nurse looked up at him.

"Listen, I'm really sorry to bother you," he pleaded, both palms flat against the endless piles of leaflets on the counter, "but do you know where they took the guy who was sitting here? Emmett, Doctor Emmett Brown? White hair, too many watches, really loud Hawaiian shirt? Honestly, you can't miss him. Please, can you tell me where he is? Did he go to the bathroom or something? Is Gary still around? I've gotta talk to somebody who knows what they've done with Doc—"

"Calm down," said the nurse, reassuringly, offering Marty the same box of tissues Gary had grabbed earlier. Was he crying again? Godfucking _dammit_. "Gary went home. I'm Telisa. Lemme just make a few calls for you, honey. Brown. Think he's the one they took for exam and X-ray."

"Thanks," Marty muttered into a handful of tissues, blowing his nose. "Thanks a _million_."

"You don't look so good, honey," said Telisa, picking up the phone. "You sit and eat those chips."

"I can't," Marty said, cursing the fact there was no trash can in sight. "They're for Doc. He's starving." He set the used tissues on the tiled floor under his chair, listening to Telisa's side of the call. She'd reached somebody in Radiology who did, in fact, have direct tabs on Doc at the moment, but it didn't quite feel real. Marty's chest tightened. He dragged in a breath, but it failed.

"Hey," said Telisa, hanging up the phone. "They got him down in X-ray right now. Honey, you listening to me?" She came out from behind the desk and stood in front of Marty, setting a hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter? Look at me. Don't cry, honey. What's your name?"

"McFly," Marty managed, gasping for breath. "With a capital...F, I think I can't... _breathe_..."

"You need to calm down," Telisa said, taking the bag of chips away from him, "and I don't think that's your first name. Mmm-mmm, honey. _Shhh_." She opened the bag of chips, sat down beside Marty, and held them out to him. "You can eat these. They'll give him crackers down there."

"My name is Marty," Marty managed, using Telisa's singleminded focus as a lifeline. "Marty McFly. I'm really hungry, but Doc's hungrier. Are you sure they'll give him crackers?"

"If his stomach's growling or he's got sense to ask for 'em, yes," Telisa reassured Marty, stroking his hair. That was a bit of a liberty, but he did tend to forget how young he looked to mother-hen types, and it was oddly comforting. "Crackers _and_ water, honey. They'll take care of him."

Marty took a few chips, shoving them in his mouth. "Thanks," he muttered. "God. What a mess."

"Damn foolish thing to say, but accidents do happen," Telisa told him, pressing the bag of chips back into his hands. "Now, honey, you eat those. I'll have somebody bring you some water, and I've gotta get back to the phone. Your friend—is he your friend?—might be half an hour or so."

"Yeah, you bet," Marty said, calmer now, considering what was left of the chips. "Doc's the best."

"Then sit tight, Marty McFly," said Telisa, gesturing to one of the other nurses, "and wait for him."

The chips and the water upset Marty's stomach a little, but that didn't keep him from curling up on the two chairs he and Doc had previously occupied, trying his best to sleep. With closed eyes, he listened as someone brought the young mother's child back to her, explaining that the fever was high, but that it ought to break within twenty-four hours. He listened while Telisa checked in a few recent arrivals: a cough, a wrist-sprain, a knife wound. He surrendered to exhaustion, dropping off.

Marty wasn't sure at what point someone touched his forehead, stroked his hair, but it wasn't Telisa.

"Marty," Doc said softly, brushing Marty's cheek as his eyes fluttered open. "I've been discharged."

Marty sat up, blinking at him, not quite processing the fact that Doc was on his feet and looked much the same as before: pale, pinched, and really tired. "Did they at least give you drugs for the pain or something?" he asked. "It's tough to keep somebody like you from moving around, Doc."

Doc patted his shirt pocket, which rattled. "Just took my first dose. Drowsiness quite probable."

"What'd the X-ray find?" Marty asked, rubbing his eyes, getting to his feet. "Anything useful?"

"Two hairline fractures, nothing displaced," Doc told him. "There's nothing else to be done."

"I guess you got off easy, huh," Marty yawned, grabbing Doc's hand. "Let's get you home."

"I should be able to drive," Doc offered, letting Marty guide him out into the chilly morning air. "It'll be half an hour or so before these kick in, and I should drop you off before there's trouble."

"If you think I'm leaving you alone, you've got another thing coming," Marty said, throwing up the passenger-side door for Doc. He watched him get in, shut it again, and went around to the driver's side of the DeLorean. "I've got bigger problems than pissed-off parents. You're gonna get loopy."

"I'm not sure how to tell you this," Doc sighed as Marty closed his door and started up the car, "but I think you'll find that the parents to whom you're returning are more conscientious than before."

"What, did I accidentally change some shit?" Marty joked, getting them well on the way. "While they were checking you over, I realized I paid for coffee in 1955 with some 1985 change. Who knows what dates were on those coins, Doc. Do you think that might've caused the paradox?"

"It's less a paradox," Doc sighed, sinking back in his seat, "and more the accrual of minor altered variables, the full extent and effects of which remain to be seen." He frowned into the rearview mirror. "Do you have any recollection of what you were meant to be doing later today?"

Marty rubbed his forehead as he stopped at the intersection, squinting at the red light. "Uh, yeah," he muttered. "I was supposed to be going up to the lake with Jennifer, but..." He glanced sidelong at Doc, whose eyes had gone wide even for _him_. "But that's not gonna happen, Doc. I refuse to leave you alone in this condition, and also, I... _jeez_ , I don't _want_ to."

"Then I suppose this may be the space-time continuum beginning to recalibrate itself," Doc said slowly, "by gradually altering your consciousness. Because your plans for tonight were, in fact, to accompany _me_ up to the lake for a fishing trip." He hesitated. "You and Jennifer..."

"This is heavy," Marty sighed, hitting the gas as the light turned green. "Are we on the rocks?"

"According to what you told me," said Doc, somberly, "to extend the metaphor, you're sunk."

Marty nodded, too far beyond one particular Doc-centric pale to be all that upset. "Ah. I see."

"You thought getting out of town for a couple of days might take your mind off it," Doc said. "Knowing everything I did based on what you'd told me in '55, I realized you'd...come back different. That you either wouldn't have these new memories at all, or you'd slowly catch up."

"After everything we've been through, Doc, honestly? Catching up's gonna be nothing," Marty said, relieved as they cleared the last turn onto JFK. "So maybe my parents are more forgiving in addition to everything else," he said, pulling into Doc's driveway. "I can dream, right?"

"You can _sleep_ ," said Doc, once they'd parked, as Marty helped him out of the car. "I'm sorry you'll find the spare bed such a mess. Once we get inside, I can clear it off—"

"One thing at a time, okay?" Marty said, slamming the passenger-side door. He rummaged in Doc's back pocket for Doc's key-ring, not even considering that the reason Doc stiffened might _not_ have been indicative of pain. "Hey, sorry. Here we go," he said, flipping the light-switch. "Home."

Doc tried to bend and undo his shoes; he grunted in pain, and Einstein got underfoot. Marty kept him upright, dropping down to untie Doc's shoes for him. He got them both out of their shoes, shed his jacket on the least filthy surface he could find (the twin bed, in which he'd decided he had _no_ intention of sleeping), and helped Doc over to the living-room section of the garage. Once he'd got Doc settled on the edge of the mattress, he went back over and turned off the lights, making his way back through the dark, bedeviled by a whimpering Einstein, to turn on the bedside light. Doc had already gotten his shirt and undershirt off, was examining his taped-up side.

Marty dropped to a crouch in front of him, scarcely registering that Doc was shirtless. They'd seen each other in various states of undress a few times. Hell, he'd even seen Doc naked the one time there'd been a chemical spill and Marty had insisted they both shower off as a precaution, because Doc had trained him well. He ran his fingers carefully over Doc's, moving it aside, and then traced the contours of the tape. Doc would be okay. He wanted to hug him again, but resisted the urge.

"You scared me, Doc," said Marty, harshly, getting back to his feet. He stripped out of his suspenders and button-down shirt without a second thought, dropping them on the rug; next came his jeans and his socks, and he could feel Doc's glassy, disbelieving gaze sweep down his spine. He turned back around, in nothing but his briefs and red t-shirt, taking Doc's hands so he could help him to his feet. He undid Doc's pants for him, pushed them down, and made Doc sit down again. He got Doc down to just his sensible cotton boxers, glaring at him. "Never do that again, got it?"

"My line of work is unpredictable," said Doc, hesitantly, lying down when Marty threw back the covers and indicated he should do so. "And we have a functioning time machine to consider."

"Then you're never gonna do any dangerous shit without me around," Marty said, frowning when Doc rolled onto his good side to face Marty instead of settling on his back. "Easy solution."

Doc sighed, offering him a smile. "Agreed. Good night, Future Boy. See you in the morning."

"Hey, don't be so eager to get rid of me," Marty said, slipping into bed beside him, feeling his pulse skyrocket as he settled next to Doc. "Here. You can use me as a body pillow, how's that?"

That their eyes locked a moment too long as Marty spoke didn't help. Marty leaned into him, met him halfway, let their bodies touch easy as breathing. He kissed Doc on the mouth like he'd been working up to it all night, all week, all three years, all _thirty_. His skin burned with it.

"I'm too tired to know whether I think this is all right because I'm under the influence of a mild narcotic, or..." Doc sucked briefly at Marty's lower lip, almost an apology. "I'd begun to think—"

"Yeah, well, you probably thought right," Marty sighed, rolling so his back was to Doc, tugging Doc's left arm over his waist. He settled down against his pillow, feeling the tight flutter in his belly ratchet up a notch when Doc spooned close, pressing his mouth to the top of Marty's head. "This version of me, that version of me, _whichever_ version of me was gonna plan to put the moves on you during that fishing trip."

Doc's hand settled against Marty's belly, tentative and reassuring. "Great Scott, what _did_ I put you through?" he whispered. "How could I have said...how could I have _risked_..."

Marty realized only too late that he was trembling, his hand firmly covering Doc's as he guided it lower. "Not that I expect you to, uh, do anything about this," he breathed, "but at least consider it?"

Doc sighed, working his hand beneath Marty's waistband, cupping him gently inside his briefs. "Marty, it's difficult to admit—but since you've asked, this is more than—" He kissed the shell of Marty's ear, nuzzling down to his nape. "This is everything you deserve, but more than _I_ should—"

"Don't stop," Marty pleaded, breathless. " _Please_. I love you, I love this, I _want_ —"

"I want you to rest now," Doc murmured, beginning to stroke Marty with abandon, as if he really had been waiting decades for this, "and— _ah_ , I see. Marty, it's all right. _Marty_."

Humiliating, really, to come as soon as he'd been touched, but how the fuck could Marty even have helped it? He tried to stifle his cries in the pillow, but there was no point. Doc, instead of having withdrawn his hand from Marty's underwear like any sensible person would have done, was not only stroking Marty through his orgasm, drawing it out to perfection, but also still talking to him. _So brave of you; so beautiful, how could I have failed to notice; I love you, too_. That last caught in Marty's disbelieving ears, coaxed another sob from him. Doc held Marty close, his tense intake of breath suggesting that he'd forgotten he shouldn't do anything to irritate his ribs.

Marty hadn't even had the chance to collect his wits, much less get Doc's sticky hand much further than where it now rested against his belly. "Stay put," he managed, finding himself still hoarse, trying to squirm around in Doc's embrace. "I'm gonna take such good care of you, Doc. I'm gonna hold you still and make sure you don't hurt yourself any more than you already—"

Doc kissed the back of Marty's head, breathing into his hair, guiding one of Marty's hands back to rest against his thigh. "I doubt you'll find me in requisite condition, but please don't think it's for lack of desire," he replied as Marty worked his hand in between Doc's legs. "Those painkillers _have_ kicked in. However, I'd be lying if I didn't...admit that feels..." He sighed blissfully, making Marty shiver. "Not now," he whispered. "Soon."

Marty extracted himself from Doc's embrace with reluctance, stripping out of his underwear and his t-shirt. He used the latter to clean himself and Doc's hand off, too tired to go anywhere that involved letting Doc out of his sight, and then peeled off his socks when he realized he was naked _except_ for his feet. Doc rolled onto his back, half-lidded eyes shining in the low light, tugging Marty down against his good side. Marty pulled up the covers so that Doc wouldn't overwork himself.

"I'm gonna take my chances with Mom and Dad," he murmured, lightly caressing the injured side of Doc's chest before letting his hand slide up to rest against Doc's collarbone. "They'll probably wake us up by calling over here, and I don't want you jumping out of bed to answer." He yawned, nuzzling Doc's cheek before catching his parted lips in a kiss. "Leave it all to me."

"You startle badly," Doc murmured against Marty's mouth. "And you're absolutely exhausted."

"I don't care," Marty insisted. "They'll understand the ER thing, trust me. We'll figure it out."

Doc's fingers skimmed down Marty's upper arm, coming to rest at his elbow. "I hope so," he said, voice laced with worry in spite of how close he was to drifting off. "I couldn't stand it if..."

" _Shhh_ ," replied Marty, sleepily, kissing Doc's cheek in reassurance. "I've got this."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several readers wanted to know what the morning-after to this scenario would look like, so I agreed to write it. Where the main story is Marty-POV, this optional coda is Doc-POV. And it's even more explicit than the brief content at the end of the first part, so if that's not your thing, click away now.

Emmett hadn't awakened to genuine disorientation in years. The first thing to register was the tight, itchy sensation of tape binding the left side of his ribcage, followed by the entirety of the previous night's events and how it had come to be there. He opened his eyes wide, blinking at the ceiling awash in curtain-filtered light. He rolled onto his right side, fumbling urgently through the mess of rumpled covers.

The warm, smooth skin of Marty's chest greeted his fingertips, followed by a sleepy murmur. Marty rolled fully, carefully into Emmett's arms, Marty's mouth finding its reassuring way to the hollow of his throat.

"I've been awake for a while," Marty mumbled, kissing the spot in unselfconscious concern. He nuzzled his way up to Emmett's earlobe, pressing a kiss there, too. "Didn't wanna sprawl on you all night."

"I wouldn't have minded if you had," Emmett confessed, holding Marty close in anxious, hopeful contentment, "healing process be damned. Did you sleep all right?"

"Like a log, Doc," said Marty, shifting so that the full length of his body, as naked as it had been when they'd fallen asleep, was tucked up against Emmett lithe as a dream. He squirmed a little, pleased when Emmett kissed his cheek. "How about you?"

"Deep and dreamless," Emmett replied, sliding one hand from the sweat-damp space between Marty's shoulder blades to the small of his back. He was almost ashamed of how quickly his body responded to the interest already evident in Marty's, recalling further events in the early hours of morning that caused him to freeze in trepidation. "Marty, I wanted to apologize for the state I was in thanks to those pills. I should have reconsidered—"

"I'm never gonna let you reconsider," Marty cut in, kissing the breath out of him. "I know you needed to rest, but you didn't even let me—" Marty paused, sliding his hand from Doc's belly down to the thin cotton of his shorts. "Aw, hey," he said, rubbing gently to gauge the extent of Emmett's arousal. "Guess the painkillers wore off, huh?" He drew back just far enough to look Emmett in the eyes, his hand stilling. "D'you want me to pick up where we left off, or are you not feeling up to it?"

Emmett closed his eyes, covering Marty's hand with his own. The contact was so good, so comforting, that it wouldn't take much if Marty simply continued what he'd been doing. "I can't ask you to take any actions you might later regret," he said, "never mind what I might _want_."

"You were the one high on codeine, not me," Marty pointed out, rubbing him with renewed determination, "and I was the one who asked you to help me, ah—blow off some steam—so I'd say _I'm_ the one who should be apologizing to _you_." He gave the head of Emmett's erection a tentative squeeze, gaze softening when he felt the dampness there. "I meant what I said, y'know," he murmured, "and I'd like to think you meant what you said, too. Did you?"

"Marty," said Emmett, wisftully, giving himself over to Marty's touch with a half-swallowed groan, "I've meant everything I've ever said to you, and that's no exaggeration."

"Well, good," Marty said, giving him a peck on the lips, purposefully dragging his hand up to Emmett's waistband. "Can I touch you, Doc?" he asked, his cheeks endearingly pink. "I wanna make you feel as good as I did. Besides, don't they say those...I don't know, endorphins or whatever...help with pain?"

"Heaven help me for having trained you so well that I can no longer argue with your suggestions," Emmett muttered, in truth relieved to let Marty help him roll onto his back and get rid of his sole remaining article of clothing. He offered Marty a nervous smile as Marty chucked Emmett's shorts over the edge of the bed and came back to kneel between Emmett's legs. Marty's hands stroking from his knees back up to his thighs was pleasing unto itself, as were Marty's bright, restless eyes sweeping from Emmett's lips down to the evidence of how much he wanted this experiment to succeed. "What did you have in mind?"

"It's not what _I_ have in mind that matters," Marty said, wrapping his hand around Emmett's length while he leaned back down to give Emmett another unhurried kiss on the mouth. "Is this okay?"

"I'll finish no matter what," Emmett whispered against Marty's lips, feeling his cheeks heat with renewed shame, pushing reflexively into Marty's fist. "This is...overwhelming to say the least."

"Then I guess I've gotta speed things along," said Marty, as if something in Emmett's confession had been sufficient to set his course. Before Emmett could protest, he kissed a wet trail from Emmett's collarbone down to Emmett's chest, lavishing attention there. All the while, his hand on Emmmett's erection never faltered, making Emmett gasp and shiver. "Like I said last night, I'm gonna take care of you. Don't move around too much, okay?"

Before Emmett could muddle through his haze of adoration and lust (that was, no doubt, still clouding his judgment) to ask what on earth that _meant_ , Marty's tongue and teeth had migrated to his belly, nipping along until they reached their logical conclusion. Emmett couldn't restrain himself; the moan that escaped him sounded desperate to his own ears, so he couldn't imagine what Marty heard in it.

"God, I meant every word, too," Marty said, pulling off just long enough to speak. His tentative lapping turned to hot, wet suction in a heartbeat, a hum of interested surprise vibrating in Marty's throat. He pulled off again after a few seconds, soothingly stroking Doc's calves. "You taste different than I thought. Not bad. Just different," he observed, planting a quick peck against the underside of Emmett's erection, nuzzling fondly, lashes lowered.

At that, Emmett felt a warning jolt of pleasure up his spine, his hand scrabbling for purchase at Marty's shoulders. "Please," he begged, touching Marty's cheek just as Marty's mouth closed around him again, prompting Marty to fix him with an inquisitive glance while he sucked. "That was— _Marty_ —that was wonderful, and I'm sure I can do without—"

Overwhelmed by another wave of sensation, Emmett let his head drop back against the pillow with a shout. There was no use in trying to change the course of this encounter now, and the slight, responsive pinch Marty gave Emmett's thigh indicated that _he_ knew it full well, too.

"You can..." Marty sucked with determination, attempting the briefest dip of his tongue into the slit, swallowing Emmett's first pulse in surprise. " _Hmmm_ ," he murmured, wiping a smear off his lower lip as if he didn't know what to make of it, stroking Emmett through the onset. "Come on me, it's fine." He angled the rest toward his chest, eyes glassy with want. "That's it," he said, words of encouragement sparking along Emmett's skin while Emmett gasped and shook, the pain in Emmett's ribs flaring to life. "Aw, _see_? You needed that."

"Too much," Emmett sighed, easing Marty's hand off him as his orgasm receded, slumping boneless on the sheets. "Come here," he said, insistent, tugging Marty up to lie beside him. He kissed Marty deeply, overcome with tenderness toward this young man, who, inexplicably, had decided Emmett was not only his friend, but also someone for whom he'd risk everything out of love so great that it consumed them both.

" _Doc_ ," Marty whimpered, pressing into Doc's uninjured side, all trembling anticipation. "I'm g—" He choked, clinging sweetly as Emmett held him there, rubbing the small of Marty's back, pushing to help keep Marty's movements steady. "I'm gonna, oh _Jesus_ , yeah, _fuck_ —"

Emmett kissed Marty's forehead while he writhed and sobbed his way through a climax that seemed just as intense as the one Emmett had coaxed from him hours before. "You mean the world to me, Marty. Never change."

"Ah, _well_ ," Marty panted, the sound more than half laughter as he breathed hard into Emmett's shoulder, recovering, "I don't know about _that_. Of course I'm gonna change, Doc, and so are you." He heaved a satisfied sigh, cuddling Emmett in spite of the fact that they were both sticky and out of breath. "As long as we change together, that's what matters. Don't you think?"

Emmett let his thoughts turn toward a long, hot shower for both of them, and then some breakfast at their favorite diner. "I do," he said firmly, and meant every word of that, too.


End file.
